


To Be or Not To Be (Sarcastic)

by HollyKasakabe



Series: Tumblr Requests [7]
Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: 2.2K, 2nd POV, 2nd Person, Bad Jokes, F/M, HollyKasakabe, Profiling, Reader-Insert, Sarcasm, sarcastic, tumblr requests, unicorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9828761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyKasakabe/pseuds/HollyKasakabe
Summary: Request: Can I get a sarcastic Criminal Psychologist, and Booth one shot?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Y/N - Your Name  
> Y/L/N - Your Last Name

You were reassigned to partner with Agents Booth and Aubrey after their on-demand profiler was forcibly removed from the team (RIP). You weren't given any sort of say in the matter. Whatever. You liked them well enough. Aubrey kept you fed because he ate all the time himself, and Booth had some grudging respect for your talents, though he firmly believed that, although behavioral psychology _helped,_ it didn't trump old-fashioned police work.

You knocked on the door to Booth's office and pushed it open without waiting. He was looking up from the computer. Having already given Aubrey the "finger point," you were just in need of a senior agent to begin the next case. "Hey, Booth, come on."

"We got a case?" He asked, perking up excitedly. He'd pulled desk duty for firing his weapon halfway through the last investigation, and hadn't gotten to be in the field when you and Aubrey had wrapped it up. He was going stir-crazy.

"No, there's been a unicorn sighting," you sarcastically corrected, rolling your eyes. "Come on. The Jeffersonian team's meeting us there.

Aubrey jogged up behind you and looked at Booth over your shoulder. He had a bottle of soda in one hand with the top half-off, probably in the middle of one of his many snacks that he ate at his desk. "Hey, Booth, there's been a body reported in one of the local gyms."

"You mean there's no unicorn?" Booth asked, jumping on board with you and chuckling. Aubrey faltered, looked between the two of you in confusion, and shook his head slowly, turning around and taking a drink from his soda. You shared a smile with Booth.

* * *

"Hello?" You asked, answering your phone with a frown. You didn't recognize the phone number that popped up on the caller ID. Crime scene photos were in front of your desk, as well as the cursory examination from Dr. Saroyan. Dr. Brennan and whichever intern was working in the lab this week were still working with the bones, but so far it looked like the cause of death had been found through a tox screen – an overdose of phenobarbital, commonly administered in controlled doses as a treatment for epilepsy.

_"_ _Is this Y/L/N?"_ The excited voice of Dr. Hodgins came yelling through your phone. You grimaced. So he was using the speakerphone again. He must've been doing an experiment where his excitement got the better of him. _"Booth gave us all your phone number but I've never tried it before!"_

"It's me, Flora," you answered, using the nickname you gave him during a case where you'd walked into the lab and been confronted with a huge array of flowers while Hodgins tested the pH levels of different soils. Oliver Wells had been working that case, and he'd earned the nickname "Sunshine," but only when said with the proper amount of irritation.

_"_ _Oh, good,"_ he answered casually, and then went on with the rest of his reason for calling you. _"Look, so I did a run with the mass spec, and you'd never believe what showed up. Can you guess?"_

"I'm not guessing," you disagreed flatly.

_"_ _Buzzkill. Anyway, it turns out that the sediment composition from the victim's pants can only come from within a few blocks, and to narrow it down even further, I isolated the only facility in that area which utilizes the same industrial-brand of cleaner that we found. They order it in bulk every month."_

"Send it to my phone?" You asked, standing up from your desk to go get your partners.

_"_ _Consider it done,"_ Hodgins proudly promised. _"Oh, and before you get there, you might want to know that it's a matchmaking business."_

"Oh, well, this is going to be fun," you muttered.

* * *

The matchmaking service was a laughable place. The walls were sky blue, there were pink hearts with peoples' names in them framed behind the front desk and in the hallway, and the carpet was rosy red. Cupid's arrows had been styled into the pencils in the receptionist's mug. Everything about the place belonged in a terrible rom-com movie.

Booth stared around, leering of every cutesy teddy bear and sculpted baby on the decorations committee. You breezed past it all, trying not to notice the names in the hearts. You weren't a huge fan of the advertisement yourself, but you were fairly sure that they weren't going to leap off of the wall and attack. Satisfied clients, you supposed, were all too happy to add their names to the shrine. The two of you walked up to the front desk, showed your badges, and were lead back to the manager's office.

The manager was a metrosexual guy who contrasted the stereotype by being buff. He was the type of guy you wouldn't have been surprised to see at the gym, or in a wrestling ring, or in a football costume on ESPN. His wrist had a dark grey tattoo with a feminine name laced in lighter-colored vines. The man had founded _CellMates_ , a play on "soulmates" that connected people through their cell phone-friendly apps. In a continuation of this pattern, he was starting an app for the athletically-inclined called _SoleMates_ , referencing the expensive running shoes that hardcore runners wore.

The man needed to be stopped immediately before he made any more poor jokes.

"I'm so glad to meet new people," Andi, who made sure you knew that his name was spelled with an "I," clapped excitedly behind his desk, leaping to his feet when the receptionist let you in. "And you're so cute together, too! How long have you been a couple?"

Booth's eyes widened. "Oh, no – we're not-"

"Three years," you interrupted with an excellent poker face. Your sarcasm was subtle, and you had a knack for convincing people that you weren't being sarcastic at all… assuming that they were dumb enough to miss the complete lack of tone in your voice. "I've adopted his son, he's proposed, and we're getting married this November." Booth spluttered, speechless, turning on you. "On another note, we happen to be here on official business." You went on to show a photograph of the victim.

Andi supplied you with the man's name and his last matches on the website he ran, and you and Booth left with new suspects and luck wished upon your upcoming nuptials.

* * *

"What was that?" Booth asked in the SUV, once he'd found his voice again. The other agent was still flustered.

You read through the profile on Emma L., one of the matches, and nixed her. She was the picture of social health, not the shading of a dejected, lonely person.

"I confessed my undying love for you and hinted that I consider Parker as my own," you replied as a joke, face completely straight but for a tiny curve at the corner of your mouth. "Emma's out. She's practically _miles_ out of my profile."

* * *

Remmie was a pharmaceutical dispensary who worked full-time to make her living. She passed the exam after she finished nursing school and had applied to return to college as a part-time student. The mousy brunette had taken her profile off of _CellMates_ only days after the program matched her with the victim. She had been left in the foster system by her father, her adopted brother had cut off contact with her, and her social media had two modes: "single" and "taken." When it was the former, she was either hatefully bashing her latest ex or longingly posting Tumblr images with "#RelationshipGoals." When it was the latter, Remmie would wax praise about her latest beau. Either way, her FaceBook, Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr were all dedicated to her quest for love.

"It's like she has no life outside of what men think of her," you commented while Booth leaned over your shoulder at your desk. The two of you scrolled down your prime suspect's FaceBook page. "I think it could really be her."

"Great. So, the vic says _hey, it's not you, it's me-"_

"She gets her abandonment issues triggered, a rage takes over, and she kills him in a crime of passion." You hypothesized with him. "If phenobarbital was nearest, she might have killed him at the pharmacy. We should request all of the video footage," you suggested helpfully. Unlike some of the cases you had gotten since partnering with Booth and Aubrey, this one was looking like it was going to come to an end fairly simply.

"Yeah, I'll do that." Booth's voice was off; he cleared his throat. You looked up over your shoulder to see him pulling at his dark red necktie. "So, Y/N, since you've already confessed your undying love," he teased, "How would you like to go out? With me."

You blinked.

"On a date," he elaborated, face pinking.

You grinned at him slightly. "Sure," you agreed without much thought, turning back to the computer and changing tabs over to your email. You were going to send Aubrey an update, and it was faster to type on a keyboard than it was to text. "What do you want to do, hit up the Royal Diner? Go to a dance? Ice cream?"

You typed out and glanced at your hands only a couple of times, mostly focusing on the words appearing by the cursor in the email box. _James Aubrey_ was one of your most frequent contacts, so you only had to tap on the address box before his name showed up. You clicked on it and then hit send.

Throughout the process, you had yet to get a reply from Booth. Humming curiously, you craned your neck to look back at him. He was the one that had asked you out. You sure hoped he wasn't so shy that he was suddenly speechless, especially not since he had no issues with poking fun at your career.

Booth's face was red, the very epitome of embarrassment. He pulled at his collar. "Forget it," he grumbled, stalking away and leaving you seated at your desk, holding out your hands and wondering what you did wrong.

* * *

The cameras had caught the victim's untimely death, and Remmie hadn't even seemed aware that they existed, so you had several dozen frames where her face was clearly identifiable, even in the grainy black-and-white stills that Aubrey printed out. You calmly told her you knew what had happened. When she'd lunged for a pair of scissors, Booth slammed her over her kitchen counter before she could hurt anyone, and Aubrey cuffed her and read her the Miranda rights.

The three of you made a pretty kick-ass team, with a little help from the Jeffersonian.

Or, at least, you usually did – when Booth would talk to you.

"What's the deal?" You asked, pulling him aside after Remmie's lawyer arrived to confer privately with the killer. Booth fixed his jaw angrily and refused to look you in the eyes. "Come on, man, what's your glitch?"

"What's _my_ glitch?" You knew that making things out to be Booth's fault would get a rise, and he would inevitably tell you, at which point you could soothe the ruffled feathers. You liked having a degree in behavioral psych, especially when it helped you know better which buttons to press for the happiest and fastest ending. Booth held his arms out, affronted, and raised his voice. You were glad for his sake that you were alone in the hall. "What kind of person mocks someone when they're asked out, huh?"

"Mocks?" Your brain screeched to a halt, and a fire was set ablaze on the tracks. "The hell? When did I mock you, Booth?" You crossed your arms.

"You could've just said no, alright?!"

"But I said yes, because I wanted to!"

You both stopped. Your feelings were hurt, just like his had been, although now at least you knew that something had happened, an issue with your communication. Booth, for all of his hastily-made assumptions, had never accused you of lying to him before, and reached up to the back of his head, threading his fingers through his short hair.

"You… you said," he started to say, frowning.

"I asked you where you wanted to go and made some suggestions," you reminded him with exasperation. "What, did you assume I was being sarcastic?" Ironically enough, that question had been entirely sarcastic. When Booth looked stubbornly towards the door to the interrogation room, your shoulders dropped incredulously. "You assumed I was being sarcastic!"

Booth huffed. "You weren't?"

"No! I was being sincere. But we're adults, and I'm not exactly shy. I like you, but we're friends first. I'm not uncomfortable or skittish around you, so I wasn't very likely to blush and stutter and forget my vocabulary, now, was I?" You scolded gently, with a hand on your hip.

Booth was quiet for a minute. "Bones says-"

"I don't care what Bones says," you interrupted, reaching out and grabbing his elbow. "You can make the safe assumption that I'm _not_ being sarcastic when doing so would hurt your feelings, alright? I'm starving. Take me out to dinner. And if you'd like to return that confession of undying love," you grinned cheekily. "Then you're welcome to at any time."

"The only woman I'm confessing my undying love to tonight is Lady Liberty," Booth chuckled, gradually relaxing and letting you pull him down the hall. "I have to get Parker's official stamp of approval before saying it to anyone else."

"Well, sounds like we'll have to make a pizza date with Parker to get your guardian's approval, then," you quipped.


End file.
